Gremlins

Argh, the wee beasties have nailed my pc. My ac adapter started emitting strange beepings yesterday and then the battery died. I'm without email for the next few days until I get my system up and running again, as my primary system is my notebook. If you've emailed me recently, I'll reply as soon as I'm able.

Politics

Michael Toy posted this link recently, which is a stunning illustration of exactly the situation that I've been discussing. Michael notes that the site sounds so extreme that it may very well be a spoof - but doesn't the fact that we are unable to dismiss it out of hand say something telling?

Now, nobody that I know would advocate cramming enough Christians into legislative districts in a key state to force a vote to rescind that state's ratification of the US Constitution, thereby seceding from the United States and forming an independent Christian state. The truth of the matter, though, is that much Christian exercise of power in the United States operates in exactly the same way. (Who was it that talked about illustrating absurdity by being absurd?) Typically, the goals sound more lucid, but the methods are eerily similar. Don't like the current moral climate? Cram Washington full of your representatives and shove your agenda down everyone's throat. All of the elements of the Exodus metaphor are in play. A privileged people, chosen of God, are separating themselves from the sinful society and leading a crusade of conquest through the Promised Land reminiscent of Joshua's campaigns, destroying all who stand in their way.

At this point, I should say what this essay is not. It is not an advocacy of withdrawal from the political process in America. That would be isolationist as well, only at the other end of the spectrum. It is also not a referendum on any particular political position. There are times when the exercise of power is necessary to combat injustice and oppression, as has happened far too little in our history - although we do have our moments. My critique is leveled particularly at the mode of conquest in which Christian exercise of power is often employed. I had originally intended to critique this as evangelism, but I can't in good conscience do so. In truth, I don't honestly believe that most Christians would view the political process as particularly evangelistic, so I suppose I'm accurate in that assessment. Oddly enough, I can't honestly find a Christian "category" in which to discuss this approach. It's particularly self-serving, shows no care for the Other, and smacks of Pharisaism. In an election year, the rhetoric has already begun on all sides of the aisle. What appears to be in jeopardy, however, is the cause of Christ.

I have thus far avoided overt political commentary on my blog. I intend to continue to do so - not because I feel that political thought is unimportant or unspiritual, but rather because I have yet to find a stance that honors my beliefs while respecting those of others. The biblical stance towards the world is one of love and longing. It shows concern for those who are not a part of the Kingdom and love for those who hate it. It serves others rather than defending itself. Pick your issue - it has been a long time since I have seen any of these virtues displayed in "Christian" rhetoric and political action. And, in honesty, such action has in fact failed to bring about any sort of change in the climate of our society. A compelling argument could be made that, rather than advancing God's purposes, it has instead served to hinder them. Preaching an ethical gospel backed up by political muscle has only innoculated American culture to the message, building resistance to Christ rather than overcoming it.

As long as "Christian" politics understands itself through the metaphors of conquest and the Promised Land, the values of the Kingdom will remain outside of the public square where they are most desperately needed.

Silence

I've walked the labyrinth twice. In both instances, there was a sense of reintegration as I finished the path, sort of like coming up for air after being submerged. I found myself reluctant to speak for a few hours after, wanting to process the experience and, as often is the case with silence and solitude, keenly aware of my love of words, particularly my own.

I had a similar experience this weekend on retreat with those in my MDiv program at Biblical. I have been reluctant to rejoin the conversation, primarily because I am still processing. It was a fantastic retreat - the speaker was honest and insightful, but mostly I am finding a true, growing friendship with those in my cohort. I am privileged to know some incredible people. I laughed more than I have in a year, and shared hopes, dreams, struggles, and fears.

I'll have more to say within the next day or so. I have a lot of thoughts bouncing around that need to be written. For the past few days, though, I've been practicing silence of a sort, hoping to hear God's voice instead of my own for a change.

Retreat

I'm off for the next few days on retreat, so I doubt I'll be able to drop by theopraxis. I'll reply to emails or comments on Sunday. Blessings all!

Numbers

Let me relate, for a moment, what my past experience has been as a youth pastor of a group active in denominational circles. Invariably when attending large denominational events, I would meet and talk with leaders of other groups, be they volunteer or paid. Also invariably, at times sooner, at times later, the question would come. The one question that I hated - the one that made me feel the most judged, the most scrutinized, the most unsuccessful, the most incompetent as a youth pastor - "So...how many did you bring?"

Please understand that there is no correct answer to that question if you lead a group with fewer members than an NFL franchise. The response is always the same - eyebrows arch, heads nod, and the mixture of sympathy and scorn sends palpable waves across the intervening space. "Well," they'll say, "better luck next year." And off they'll go, in search of the other cool kids successful youth pastors. Numbers, it seems, equate to power in the church™ - if you don't have them, you don't have a voice.

I must be honest - the pursuit of numbers frustrates, inflames, and grieves me more than any other avenue towards acquisition of power practiced by the church™. Perhaps this is my perspective as one who has refused to play the game and has paid the price for that decision. Perhaps, and this is my hope, it is also my perspective as one informed by the biblical narrative. The reality of the story of God's people is that only on the most unusual of occasions are crowds painted in a positive light.

Perhaps the most chilling read in relation to numbers comes from John 6. In this portion of the narrative, Jesus manages to offend nearly everyone who had gathered to listen to him, resulting in a mass defection of those who had, until now, followed him. As is not uncommon in the story, the crowds had asked for a sign that he was the messiah - and Jesus refused. This in and of itself does not make for a surprising tale. However, a closer reading reveals that the crowds were none other than those who had previously dined on five loaves and two fishes. The day after Jesus miraculously fed well over five thousand people with the lunch of a small boy, the crowds ask for a sign, and Jesus manages instead to alienate them, almost to a person.

Was Jesus successful? As Yac was fond of saying, he started with 12 and finished with 11. Jesus would probably be fired from most ministry positions today. And yet, there is a compelling, subversive element to the numbers game in the biblical narrative - God moves, not among the numerous (and powerful), but among the small and weak. Gideon raises an army of tens of thousands of warriors; God is much more satisfied with three hundred. Many gave large sums of money; Jesus was impressed by two small coins. Ninety nine sheep were safe in the pen; the good shepherd went after the one that was missing.

In our pursuit of numbers, we have missed the significance of God's actions in our story. We believe that numbers prove our strength. Large churches, large budgets, large events all demonstrate our power, our influence, our strength - but if we believe that our strength will accomplish God's purposes, we are sadly mistaken.

Space

I have to confess, this little project that I wanted to undertake turns out to be a bit larger than what I had envisioned. I thought I'd be able to throw a quick essay together on the use of power in the church™ and move along to something else - but the more I think on it, the harder it becomes to wrap up into a nice tidy little bundle. So, I've decided to take some long standing advice about devouring pachyderms and take my first bite. I think I'll probably run through a few posts before I get this out of my system. Consider yourself warned.

I never considered space as power until I ran across an article some time ago discussing megachurches from the perspective of those who live in the surrounding communities. The article was stunning, if only to see in print some of those things that one has suspected but dared not believe out of some remnant of hope or naivete. What was perhaps most stunning, however, was this particular quote:

Congress in 2000 enacted the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act to prevent cities from using zoning laws to keep out religious institutions. It essentially gives churches the freedom to ignore local land-use restrictions unless there is a "compelling governmental interest" to stop them from building what they want.

In this scenario, then, space carries a particular power for the church, one that circumvents restrictions and social contracts to which others are bound.

What is truly terrifying to me is the vision of churches who have decided to forego living at peace with their neighbors to wield the power that comes of owning land. It's rather feudal, in some sense. Would it truly be a stretch to describe such campuses as fortresses, behind whose walls the faithful are preserved from the ugliness of the "world"? And let me be fair - megachurches are easy targets for criticism, but the church as castle mindset is not in any way uncommon, even to the smallest of congregations.

This particular use of power, in truth, goes back to Constantine. Much has been written of this, so I will allow others more qualified than I to speak. (Rodney Clapp's A Peculiar People is an excellent treatment.) The tragedy in this scenario (if one can pick a single tragedy) is that this is a pivotal stance that determines how the church will relate to its neigbors. Too often, that stance has been to hide behind the walls and occasionally venture out for battle, not unlike Tolkien's fabled city of Gondolin.

What would happen if we decided to forego property? How would we live among our neighbors? What if we were to deliberately choose small over big, borrow over possess, portability over stability? What if we chose to live as Jesus did, the Creator of the Universe who had no place to call his own? Would we be worse off? Or would we be forced to live simply, travel lightly, and trust greatly?

Update

I'd hoped to get some thoughts posted Friday, but my weekend sort of ran off on Friday and I haven't seen it since. I did get to chauffer two of the students from our group to the prom on Friday, which was a lot of fun. It's really great to be able to tangibly show students that you think highly of them - something that is hard to do in 10 hours a week. Tonight I got to celebrate the birth of my friend's third son with good cigars on an absolutely wonderful evening. As we sat under the stars and talked about God, life, and all things meaningful, a meteor blazed a trail across the sky, and I knew that God was listening as well.

At any rate, I'll have some more thoughts posted tomorrow; I'm looking forward to continuing the recent conversation.

Exile

I've been reflecting on something that came up in the comments of the last post. I've been doing a lot of reading recently in Esther for my MDiv. Interestingly enough, I was struck by the parallels between the Hebrews' situation in exile and our situation as a community attempting to become a liminal, subversive movement in society. The Hebrew narrative understood its place as God's chosen people occupying a place of privilege in society. It also stood in opposition to all other narratives and viewed other cultures as enemies. (I would argue that this, in many ways, became a distortion of the original Abrahamic call to be a blessing to all peoples, but that is a post for another time.) The Hebrew culture was supremely confident in God's ability to protect it from all enemies, and in its worthiness to be delivered.

When Jerusalem fell, I can only imagine the devastation inflicted on the Hebrew people's identity and spirituality. A daunting transformation had to take place - a shift from a privileged, empowered perspective to one of exile. No longer could the Hebrew people claim, in the same way, that they were God's chosen people. Chosen, yes - but not necessarily for power and privilege. The exiles became a people thrust into the margins of a wholly pagan society, and the exilic literature shows how they not only survived, but thrived. God was present at the margins, protecting them, granting them influence far beyond what should have been possible, and calling them to renewed relationship with Him.

If this situation strikes a familiar chord, then we are in a good place. What does it mean to live as an exile? For one, the concept of power is radically restructured. Speaking again from an evangelical perspective, this is one area that stands forcefully in the path of transition to a liminal, subversive community. One cannot hope to be subversive and wield the power of privilege. Power is something that western Christianity has come to covet - political, economic, and social influence is the goal of so much effort that is expended by the church in today's world. Conversation is out; legislation is in. Simplicity is out; consumption is in. Compassion is out; aggression is in.

Exiles understand that they no longer occupy positions of power. They also understand that God does not need power - as understood by humanity - to accomplish His purposes. In fact, He often stands in opposition to power structures in defense of the marginal. Exiles, in some sense, treasure their status as outcasts, recognizing that to be in exile is to come under the watchful gaze of heaven. Exiles cannot trust in their own strength; they have none.

If Christianity™ is to move beyond its current downward slide into irrelevance, it must set aside notions that it can continue to wield power as a sign of God's privilege. It must recognize that no amount of legislation, no amount of marketing, no amount of construction, no amount of angry rhetoric can return it to the position it occupied at the center of Christendom. It must begin to learn to live as exile - as a marginal people entrenched in an alien, sometimes hostile, culture but under the protection of the One who moves through the margins.

DNA

One of my assigned books this semester in my MDiv program is Warren's Purpose-Driven Life. It's been, well, interesting reading. (When I'm finished with the book, I'll probably write a full review - for some reason, it's one of those books that shapes pop religion, which warrants a full post of its own.) In any event, one thing that I've noticed after reading through approximately a quarter of the book is how closely it connects with the recent metaphor conversation. Warren is most definitely writing from the perspective that I've chosen to call the Exodus metaphor. While the remainder of the book may swing the pendulum, the first ten chapters leave little doubt that all of the elements - isolation, privilege, eternal destiny, and so on - are present in the book's perspective.

So what? Does it matter? I would say most definitely. It is the type of input that perpetuates the proprietary system of Evangelical thought (to situate the discussion in my context, although it no doubt can be fairly applied elsewhere). One's metaphors shape one's assumptions shape one's metaphors, in a perfect display of circular reasoning. Or, to approach the topic from another angle, something exists in the DNA of contemporary Christian spirituality that is self-replicating, something that shapes our orientation, our stance, our focus, and our practice.

DNA is a good thing. It is what makes me a man and not a frog, for example. It defines, at least in part, my appearance, my personality, my health, and my abilities. I received good genes from my parents - I am moderately healthy (no thanks to my lifestyle), with no genetic abnormalities of which I am aware, other than a hairline in full retreat.

DNA, however, is not always benign. Many genetic disorders can be passed from father or mother to son or daughter. Many diseases are genetic, as are other complications, such as dangerous allergies or tendencies toward particular addictions. Many times, an individual may possess genetic dangers of which he or she may be completely unaware. I, for example, must be aware of and guard against the dangers of heart disease - my family struggles with such difficulties, and it is entirely possible that I also carry its seeds within my cells.

Those of us who identify with the emerging church must be aware, also, of our DNA. Tendencies towards separation, isolation, and withdrawal may be a part of our spiritual DNA - a part of which we may be unaware. Forming a subversive, liminal movement may be more of a challenge than we think. We inherit traditions, lenses through which we view reality, which may be transparent to us. However, those very lenses may keep us from seeing that which we most need to see.

Musings

Thank you for indulging me in my sentimental, somewhat cynical ramblings. At some point, I'll share the rest of that story - not in the interests of self-promotion or sympathy-seeking, but rather for the purposes of disclosing my perspective. That part of my story colors my perspective on all things Church™, and I cannot hide from it, because it also shapes my spirituality to this day, some four years later. A very particular, very sensitive nerve was prodded on Monday that connects with that story, and I was unprepared for my own reaction.

Hope

Chris posted this about hope today, and it moved me to tears. I must be honest; it's very difficult for me to cry. I cried when Mike Yaconelli died - big, gut-wrenching sobs and a profound sense of loss for someone who was so amazingly influential in my life and who I had just seen as alive as ever two days prior at the NYWC in Charlotte. Prior to that, I can honestly not remember the last time I cried. Tonight, I struggle to maintain composure as I reflect on what Chris knows, and what I wish I knew.

To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm posting this in such a public forum. I have nothing to offer to the conversation. I don't believe I'll inspire anyone with my honesty or wit. I intended to come here tonight and continue my conversation about systems, DNA, and ingrown Christian traditions...but I can't. I can't bring myself to type the words and hope that they'll come out coherent.

Hope...it's a funny thing. Paul tells us that hope comes of suffering. Anyone who has been involved with ministry or spiritual leadership or investing yourself in spritual relationships knows that there is a special suffering that comes at the hands of one's fellow believers in Christ. Few wounds sting like those inflicted by those with and for whom one ministers. My heart goes out to those in ministry who have been hurt by the church. I know their pain; I feel it daily.

Proverbs tells us, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." I long for many things, most of them related to leaving the corporate world and returning to vocational ministry, finding a place where I can serve to the best of my abilities as God allows with others who have the same desire. It is a hope that has been deferred for a long time. I wish I could write what Chris has written. They are true words, and I am happy that he is able to write them - but I cannot follow suit when so many things weigh on my soul. Struggles in my current ministry, struggles in my family, struggles in my spiritual life - I feel more like Jacob, wrestling with an unseen opponent whom I cannot best, but unlike him I no longer have the strength to fight for blessing.

My heart is sick tonight.

Books

I'm toying around with a Recommended Reading page. It's fairly sparse at the moment, but I thought I'd share nonetheless. I'm working on getting some brief reflections on the books pulled together, along with expanding the list and adding a few other fun tweaks. At any rate, I thought I'd share some things that I've found meaningful over the past few years. More to come on that.

I also have a few thoughts bouncing around about the Systems post that I'll try to put up at a more humane hour.